Un-beta'd. First Arthur fic, but not even close to my first fic. Oh dear god no. lol.
In all the Lancelot/Arthur stories I've read, Lance gets to hit Arthur or goad him or whatever, but Arthur never responds. He never gets pushed past him limit like Lance does ever other minute. And Lancelot is always super overly confident all the time. Which I think is partly to cover his weakness and partly to compensate for his slighter and more angular build. Less he-man-ish. So here is my response to that.
Even the Great Arthur Castus can only take so much, even from Lancelot, before there are consequences that must be faced. Slash A/L
One Among Our Number
The sun was still blazing overhead, though it did little to relieve the chill in the autumn air. A sharp wind curled its way over the Wall, biting into the skin of the newly arrived knights. Blood and filth and bits of flesh littered their armor and exposed skin. Dismounted and leading exhausted mounts the small group headed for the stable. On among them stood out from the rest, his posture erect and stiff, the wind whipping at his red cape. Arthur walked proudly, even as the weight of his men's lives sitting heavily upon his shoulders. Across the back of his horse, the body of a man was slung. Arthur carefully avoided looking at the prone figure.
Lancelot did not notice this reluctance, nor did he see the pain in his commander's eyes. All the younger Sarmatian saw was the blood of his brother splashed across the ground at Arthur's feet. Handing off his horse to the stable with a glare that could freeze mead, he turned on his heel. Stalking across the yard, he grabbed Arthur by the shoulder, interrupting his quiet conversation with Tristan, and spun the taller man to look at him.
"Yes, Lancelot?" The commander's voice was tired, saying clearly that now was most definitely not the best time.
The tone of his voice set a spark to Lancelot's anger. "Are you proud of what have done this day, Castus?" His own voice was deceptively even.
Arthur narrowed his eyes. Lancelot never used that tone of voice. Not ever. "I am not sure I understand you."
A sneer twisted Lancelot's full lips. "I asked if you were proud of what you have done? Are you pleased that another barbarian has died for you precious Rome? Do you smile at the Sarmatian blood at soaks the soil by your command?"
Arthur's face tightened and his back stiffened. "Lancelot, you know very well that I do not—"
"What I know, Castus, is that you are a Roman who keep getting my brothers killed. You are proud that with every Sarmatian life that is taken another pagan soul may be saved for you God." As soon as the words slipped from his mouth, Lancelot realized that he had pushed Arthur too far. Every man had limits and Lancelot had forgotten Arthur's for a moment.
He was reminded of them sharply when the back of Arthur's leather clad hand connected abruptly with his cheekbone. His head snapped and he had to fall back a step to stay standing. His black eyes were large as he stared at his commanding officer.
"Do not ever dare to suggest that I have any desire to see my knight, my brothers-in-arms, die for any reason. You should know better then any that I would free every man in my charge if I believed that could return to their homelands unharmed." He took a step forward and seized Lancelot by the iron studded leather armor he wore. Pulling the shorter man forward, he forced eye contact. His usually soft green eyes were cold, blazing emerald. "If I ever hear you utter anything that implies that of me, I will tie you to that whipping post and lay 30 lashes into your back myself. Do. You. Understand. Me?"
From the moment Arthur had backhanded his second, the entire courtyard had frozen, watching the events unfold. Now, even the wind had silenced itself, waiting. Arthur's words had carried through the yard, sending a shiver down every back. No one in that yard had ever seen the quiet commander that angry. Caught in that terrifyingly frozen rage.
Arthur shoved the smaller man away from him, as if he could not longer stand to touch him. Lancelot stumbled and fell backward, still staring up at his friend. The Sarmatian seemed stunned, unable to speak. Arthur took another step, towering over the dark-haired knight, who remained on the ground. "Am I understood?"
Arthur's voice was cold and distant, very much like the men who had taken Lancelot from his family as a child. He shuddered visibly, but nodded. "Yes" The taller man turned and made to leave when Lancelot called out to him. "Arthur!" The Roman turned back to find Lancelot still seated on the ground, braced on his hands. His eyes were still wide, a touch of something mingled with the slightest hint of fear. "I apologize for my thoughtless remarks, Commander. I was out of line."
The courtyard held its shocked breath. Lancelot never apologized for anything to anyone. Not ever and especially not in front of the half contingent of knights. Arthur regarded him for a moment, allowing the pain to seep into his eyes, before silently turning and taking his leave.
Lancelot dropped his head to his chest for a brief moment, before rising and exiting the courtyard. Once he reached the shadows of the inner hallways, he allowed the tears to fill his eyes. He had spoken out in anger, trying to flay Arthur with his words. He knew exactly what would set the commander off. He had never crossed the line that would provoke that kind of reaction before. He was not truly certain why it have today. Maybe the scars of battle were still too fresh. Lancelot had seen the pain in Arthur's gaze only when it was too late. The dark-haired knight curled on a window seat, pained gaze trained on the slowly darkening sky.
Arthur was the one person, the one thing, on this gods-forsaken island, and possibly the damned world, that kept Lancelot away from the edge. He was uncertain what lay beyond, in the abyss of his own battle-rage, but he did not want to find out. Arthur was his anchor. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to keep fighting when he was just alienated Arthur? He knew it would happen. It was inevitable. He'd told Arthur that. He let his head fall back against the stone, as brief thoughts of provoking the Woads enough to kill him flicker through his head. But no, that was the coward or Roman's way out. He would not fall upon his sword.
"I will not." He murmured. "Even if Arthur hates…or no longer thinks I am worth the time." Contemplation of being ignored completely, however, had him fingering his dagger. So engrossed was he in his thoughts that he did not hear the footsteps approaching. He was not even aware of another presence until callused fingers carefully extracted the dagger from his grasp.
He looked up sharply to find Arthur by his side. His eyes widened and he pressed back against the wall. "Arthur." He was pleased to find his voice was steadying and did not show the anguish that twisted his gut.
"Lancelot." Arthur trained a steady gaze on him that gave away nothing.
That unreadability caused Lancelot's gut to twist tighter. "Can I do something for you, Commander?"
Arthur simply regarded him for several more long minutes, before he dropped his gaze to the floor. "You are not acting yourself, Lancelot."
The other was unsure of how to respond to that, so remained silent.
Arthur stepped back and leaned against the far wall. His gaze still on the floor, he said softly, "Have I frightened you that badly that you are suddenly submissive?"
Lancelot opened his mouth to protest that he never submitted to anyone, but Arthur cut him off. "Lancelot, I believe that the words you spoke to me earlier hurt me worse than any other in my life. Even I have my limits. You have that power to wound me with your tongue, because you know me best of all. It was because of that that I believed that you understood how I feel about the knights in my command. It was because I lo— It was because of our friendship that I thought you knew that. That you respected me as I respect you. I see now that I was wrong. I am sorry for forcing my company on you when you obviously view me as another Roman master. I thank you for not killing me the many times you had the chance, which I think you would have done to my predecessor. That is if he had even been so stupid to allow you near him."
This speech finished Arthur raised his eyes and looked at the Sarmatian for a brief moment. He pushed off the wall, no doubt to leave, when Lancelot spoke. "No!" Arthur froze and turned his eyes to his second again. "Arthur, no! I will allow you to walk away from me thinking that I hate you like the others. You are not just another Roman master! I do not hate you. You are the one thing that keeps me from…from truly ending up in the hell your God damns us to. Arthur. I spoke in anger. I knew what would hurt you. You looked so calm and unaffected. I wanted you to feel what I was feeling. You will never know how sorry I am, especially if my words have lost me my greatest friend." Arthur simply stared at him. "I am not afraid of you. I am afraid of losing you. That this will make you hate or ignore me. Although, you are probably the only person I would ever even consider submitting myself to."
Arthur's jawed dropped open at the dark-haired knight's words. "Lance, I would never ask you to—"
"And that is part of the reason I would consider it, Arthur."
"So it is established that neither of us hate the other and that you did not mean what you said. I will admit that I am not entirely sure that I would be able to carry through on the threat I made. So I beg you not to provoke me to. I think I would break before the tenth lash hit. And I cannot show weakness before my men."
Lancelot, thinking back on what Arthur had said to him, narrowed his eyes. "You love me." He accused in a quiet voice.
Arthur's pain-filled eyes widened. "I—"
"No. You said it yourself. Well, almost. You do, you love me." There was awe in his tone now.
Arthur turned away. "I'm sorry."
"I love you." Lancelot murmured, finally rising from his seat on the windowsill. "I love you, Arthur, and the thought of you hating me or not even acknowledging me was top painful to bare."
Arthur spun his eyes flicking wildly between the blade in his hands and Lancelot's gaze. "Never! You will never even think about that again!" The command in his voice was clear, as was the nearly hysterical terror.
"That is a cowards way. Do you believe I am a coward?"
The green-eyed Roman released a shaky breath and pulled the other to him, dropping the offending blade to the floor. A single tear slipped from Arthur's eye to trickle down Lancelot's neck. The dark-eyed man smiled softly. He buried his face in the crook of the commander's shoulder and held fast.
The sun set behind them as the two sought Arthur's private rooms and shelter from ever curious eyes.
